Lenmi, the White,
from the Little kingdom;
did harbour dreams
of foreign income.
This experience, he proclaimed,
will be such fun;
but still the tourists
would not come!
can be so fickle;
did conceive a plan;
and spake unto Doogie
of the Eastern clan -
"Wouldst thou deign
to lend a hand,
and purchase from me
this useless land?"
goose shall be pickled -
Then came Yardley
down from high,
with sensational news
from his vaunted spy.
and Lenmi would cry:
and Sheepbert, the Brown,
said "Just like Eli!!
Hush your mouth,
you only speak drivel!
Outameni has already
That got Lardy Urn
so very incensed,
Dani Boy put on his boots,
and hopped off the fence.
With vitriol and bile
they inquired from whence
shall the taxpayers' Fund
But , while Rome burns
Cleo Porsche doth fiddle.
Outameni hath already
- Kevin-Andrew Moreno Sheriff
'Mi ketch di ting'
Itch, itch, itch, scratch, scratch, scratch!
Next ting mi know, mi cover inna rash!
But a wha dis pon mi tho Fahda?
No tell mi sey mi ketch chickengunya?
Trying hard to get out a di bed
every muscle hurts, it caan get worse.
But kiss mi teet, it mus be a curse
Smaddy fill mi bed slippaz wid lead!
Mi foot dem heavy, dem heavy so tell
an one bag a pin deh inna di stair well!
Woiee! Mi foot, mi ankle, mi elbow, mi knee!
Mi shoulda, mi han wriss, have mercy pon me!
Mercy pon yu ? Yu no si nutten yet!
Stap! Den a wye yu so wet?
Yu get dere too late wen yu waan weewinate?
Well mi glad yu neva did waan deficate!
So, missa minista yu sey yu waan fi ketch it?
Yu gwine ongly live fi rigret it!
Mi tek mi panadal,anti-viral an vitamin c
but ef yu eva si wha happen to me,
Yu wooda tink twice before yu pray fi get e!
Mi sey mi kin cratchy cratchy an fava dawg wid miange
di medicine dem seem fi mek likkle chiange
so ef yu know wha mi know, an mi know everyting,
shet yu mout an pray sey yu no ketch di ting!
(It no pretty! Wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy!)
- Dr Jay
CUT THIS POEM IF SPACE IS AN ISSUE
Keep your lowercase argument
you talk about the "wreck"
But you don't see the beautiful, the SHIP
Strong not seaworn
good thing me have New Zealand Anchor
on my portside
u love to emphasise
that u caused
it amazes u
that the ship
whether sailing or
decked on shore
u is just one letter I want to forget
it matters not that u is a vowel
nothing as boasty
as me superstructure
what i have been through
I deserve to be a national monument
couple CD,OJ,OD,OM that kind of ranking
just wrap Badges of Honours for Gallantry
on my bow
by right, the wrongs would make nothing
left of me, not a breath
the "wreck" is a
some double-barrell nonsense I picked up along the way
like a woman with an
added name after marriage
does it make her a
I guess not
SHIP is the
not divorce nor any other
kind of derailment
look at mi stern!
yes, for is u name wreck
but Me name... SHIP
"All hands on deck... All aboard!"
- Helen-Ann Wilkinson
Slavery, from whence I came
I was chained
With no thoughts of my own because I belonged to a Master
I was controlled
The shackles that bind me, could not be freed
Because they were meant to enslave me
I defy their ideologies of freedom, fraternity and equality
They said my rebellious nature posed serious threat to my social stability
But how could that be?
When I'm chained and not free
I ploughed and reaped the land
I planted rice, sugar cane and yam
They reaped the profits from the sweat of my brow
and the work of my hands
I toiled in the sun, sick, hungry and burned
While my Master's Kids ate well
Went to school and learned
to continue the trade to chain and enslave
Yet, for freedom I craved,
In 1833 I became emancipated and free
No longer bound by the chains that bind me
I was stimulated to freedom by the development of the very wealth
My labour had created
It was not just my emancipation
Not just a revolution
But my evolution
My fury now tamed
Let freedom reign
I am no longer chained
I am dreaming of home,
the eastern yoke unfolding its yellow lids
to the flames of rejoicing hills,
I am dreaming of
a slow and embracing ambiance
floating across breakfast tables
with goodness to the last dish,
of a morning, breathing lavish air
over the winking jewels
of happy dewdrops - of the pregnant richness ,
of sleek necked palms in airy waltz,
of days erupting with the joys of painted birds in mad glee.
I am dreaming of peace,
rising softly from the east
on faces lit with fondled ease - a swollen
moon, tangled on nodding branches
'til they shake, and love grows - of our crowing alarm clocks
flapping their proud wings to the fierce blue
I am dreaming of liquid rocks
pouring wrinkles of watery suds
between splintering light buds -
I am dreaming
of a native land earthy to its core,
til the train stops,
I wake, cold, snow and ice.
- Homer Sylvester